


Marry me, Bollig!

by Notasmuch



Category: Hockey RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: BDSM, First Time, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4598961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notasmuch/pseuds/Notasmuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some guy with a bun tries to pick Bollig up while he's in the penalty box. Youth today, eh?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marry me, Bollig!

Brandon was busy glaring through the penalty glass and chewing on his mouthguard when he heard it. “Guess you zigged when you should have zagged.”

He didn’t usually answer chirps from the box, unless they were particularly annoying, but he couldn’t even tell if this was a chirp or someone’s attempt at a joke. He turned around slowly and was faced with a ridiculously wide grin on a vaguely familiar face and Toews’ jersey, home red. 

He ignored the ping in his heart over the jersey and focused on the person instead, kid, really, proud smile telling him he had been waiting a while to say that line. He still wasn’t sure if it was a chirp, with a Hawks fan it could go either way, but he couldn’t help but smile back. 

“I love how you play!” the guy yelled at him next. 

Brandon shook his head. He knew who he is, no one _loved how he played._ “Thanks!” he shouted back anyway. 

With a minute and a half left of his penalty he should have been focusing on the damage his team was taking, one player down, but instead he was looking at the mess of a bun on the guy’s head while he turned around frantically, looking for something. Eventually he dug up a marker - who carried that to a hockey game? - and a piece of paper and wrote something quickly, then pressed it to the glass with long fingers, letting Brandon read it. 

“MARRY ME, BOLLIG!” it said and Brandon felt his cheeks heating up, he just hoped he was already flushed from the game. 

The timekeeper coughed next to him. 

A bit under a minute left. 

The guy wrote something else on the other side of the paper, rolled it into a ball and threw it over the glass with an uncoordinated flail. Time keeper sighed, took it out of his hair and pushed it into Brendon’s glove. 

And penalty over.

**

He didn’t get any more penalties that night and was even five passes removed from a score so he considered it a good night. 

He didn’t change gloves till the end of the game so he fished the paper out in the locker room. It was sweaty and crumpled and the symbols bled through but he could still read the phone number on it, “marry me” now visible from both sides. That kid had some guts.  
He kept the paper, but he was still not sure he would actually call. It was one of those things that seemed fun in theory but the reality of it was probably more damage than it would be worth. Still. He tucked the paper into his jacket pocket. 

**

His new flat was nice, but still not fully decorated, mainly because he was trying to make a clean break and everything he owned reminded him of Chicago, as did all the friends he could think of calling. He had been pretending he was “fine” for five months now. First to everyone in Chicago, then to everyone in Calgary, as well as his family and media. He was so incredibly sick of being fine that his stomach hurt every time someone asked him how he was doing. 

He was lonely, was the point. Alone and lonely on the couch with tv quiet in the background. And that guy’s number was in his hand, phone in the other. 

He wasn’t drunk, but he let himself pretend he could be. Just bored and slightly drunk and calling some guy for fun. Yeah. He dialed the number. 

“Hi,” the guy answered, voice deep and curious. 

“Hi, um, this is Brandon. Bollig. From the hockey game.” 

There was a pause on the other end and then a bang and an exhale right in his ear. “Oh wow, I can’t believe you called.” 

Brandon cringed at the words even as he registered the accent. It probably was a bit creepy. “Yeah, sorry, I was just…” he rubbed his beard. Drunk? Needy? Lie or truth? 

Before he could decide, the guy laughed quietly and said “I’m so glad it’s you. How are you? Wait, where are you?” 

“Home,” Brandon answered, not sure how that was the most important question. “I’m good, thanks, and you?” 

“I’m alright. In LA right now, avoiding responsibilities.” 

He heard the smile but also the truth behind it. “Oh yeah? What do you do?” 

This pause lasted longer and then, “Oh. Um. I’m in a band? My name is Harry Styles.” 

Brandon knew that name, he just couldn’t place it. He was about to apologize when the guy, Harry, sighed. “You should probably google that, before we talk. Just, I mean, sometimes it’s easier. But like, don’t believe everything you read. And later, if you still want to, I’d really like to talk to you.” 

“Okay,” Brandon said.

“Harry Styles, alright?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Bye.” 

“Bye,” Brandon hung up. He was pretty sure he just got rejected but the name _was_ familiar so maybe he should just do what the guy told him. 

**

It didn’t really matter that he typed “Harry Stiles”, Google knew who he meant. In really ridiculous detail. Brandon realized who it was after the first group photoshoot pic. The “You don’t know you’re beautiful” guy. He clicked a few links, wikipedia and latest gossip article with pap shots that looked nothing like the smiling guy in Tazer’s jersey. 

And, dropping his number to a hockey player was brave when Brandon thought the guy was just a random fan. Doing it with an army of followers tracking your every move… Brandon couldn’t imagine ever doing that, and he took fists to his face weekly. 

He browsed the images for a few minutes, but didn’t click on any. It was strange, how young Harry looked in some of them - Bollig checked his age twice, seven years younger was still a lot - and how he seemed to go from pop star to rock star in a span of what had to be just a couple of years.  
He paused on three pics exactly. One was of Harry shirtless, his tattoos on display. Brandon snorted and shook his head. He pointedly didn’t think “kids today.”  
The second was Harry kissing a guy, on what looked like a tv screenshot.  
Third was a pic of Harry looking most like what Brandon remembered him. A bun on his head with some curls running loose, a small smile on his face. He was holding on to a mic though, and it reminded him that, yes, Harry was a singer. He wondered if he should find a video of just him singing, youtube probably had it. But if he hated it and Harry asked? He would probably do better just saying he had no idea which voice in that one song Brandon kinda heard a few times was actually Harry.

… _If Harry asked._ He sighed at himself. Of course he was going to call. 

**

“Hi! You called again,” Harry answered.

"Yeah. You are really famous."

"We got really lucky."

Brandon knew media training when he heard it.

"Worked on it hard enough, probably, if you're in Calgary one week then LA next."

Harry coughed like he choked for a moment. "Yeah, we do travel a lot."

"Do you miss home?" Brandon asked on impulse.

"I miss my mom and sister. And some of my friends. But I have the band with me always so."

Brandon could see the conversation coming to an awkward end. He didn't know what to say that wouldn't make everything too personal and sad. Harry beat him to it, though.

"How are you getting used to Calgary?"

"It's a beautiful city. A great team."

"Is it an honor to be there?"

He was about to say yes when he caught the teasing note in Harry's voice and ended up laughing instead. "Hey, ask an interview question, get an interview answer," he joked back.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was that too impersonal? How about 'what are you wearing?'"

Brandon made an unattractive wheezing noise.

"Sorry, um, that..."

"Do you hit on a lot of hockey players?" Because that didn't seem like a healthy practice.

"Not really, no. Look, we can just forget I said that, okay?"

"I don't know, Harry, you did propose to me, I think it's about time we took the next step." This conversation was way more fun than thinking about the move.

"Please don't tease."

"Who says I'm teasing?"

"I'm still in LA."

"True. But what are _you_ wearing?"

Harry laughed and it was just as deep as his voice. Brandon suddenly wanted to be able to see it.

"Nothing I couldn't take off in a minute," he finally answered, still joking but leaving it up to Brandon to decide.

Brandon sat lower on the couch, spreading his legs a bit to get comfortable. “You should do that then.” 

He heard shuffling on the other side and took a moment to think if he was really doing this. With a pop star of all the people. At least he thought discretion would be guaranteed. He cupped himself through his sweats and felt the familiar pull in his belly. This would be good.

“Naked,” Harry said on an exhale like he was being timed. “Now you.” 

“I prefer the tease.” 

“Ah… alright,” he sounded unsure. 

“Tell me what you like,” Brandon prompted. 

“I like, uh, doing things.” 

“That’s not very specific.” 

“No, I mean, I like to do what people tell me to do.” 

Brandon was still just cupping his dick but he could feel it jump a bit at that. “Do you like sucking dick?” 

“Yes,” Harry said, but sounded subdued, like he was being chastened. 

“Like having your throat fucked?”

His breath hitched and Brandon smirked at the phone.

“Yes. Yes. And my hair…” 

“Pulled? With your hands behind your back?” 

There was a soft whine on the other side and Brandon tsked. “Are you touching yourself?” 

“No? Not… any more.” A sad sigh convinced Brandon it was true. 

“Good. And what do you like being called?” 

“Um… a good… good boy.” 

Oh, Brandon loved that. He started caressing the head of his dick with a thumb over his pants. Some days he liked a slow buildup. 

“Is this weird?” Harry asked.

“The conversation?” 

“Well, that, but, I mean, the ‘good boy’ thing. Telling you.” 

“It’s not what I usually talk to people about the first time we speak, no. But, I’m into it and if you are too, who gives a shit.” 

“Yeah. Alright.” 

“So what else?” 

“I… can you tell me what you like first?” 

Brandon thought about it, about how comfortable he was on his couch right now, for the first time since he moved and got all new furniture, about how any move might break the spell. 

“I’m sitting on a couch now and I’d want you over me on your knees. Naked and hard, just rubbing against me until it was too much.” He could see it, Harry with his hair down, his arms… “your arms behind your head, so I can see everything.” 

“Shit, can I… please?” Harry’s voice got a bit higher and Brandon started moving his own hand, feeling the cotton still soft on his skin. He wanted to say “no”, but it was probably too much for the first time, maybe only time, so he agreed and got to hear Harry’s groan when he touched himself. 

“Would you take your shirt off? Let me rub against your stomach?” 

Brandon thought about it, slipped a hand into his pants, started jerking off slowly, imagining Harry’s ass rubbing against him desperately. “I’d tug it up, let you try.” 

“Your dick. I want it in me,” Harry gasped, turned on quickly, ready to blow in a minute. Brandon smiled. 

“You’d have to earn that.” 

“Bloody hell, I’d be so good for you, so good. I’d earn it.” 

“I’m sure you would. You sound good. Obedient. Are you?” 

“I am, I am, promise,” he was gasping now, so much closer to orgasm than Brandon was. Testing that promise would probably get him closer, though. 

“If you say so. Stop now.” 

“What?” 

“Take your hand of your dick,” Brandon made it a soft order, enough that it wouldn’t be too awkward if Harry didn’t, but it was still clear what he wanted. 

Another quiet whine came through the phone, signaling Harry doing what he was told and Brandon finally grabbed a good hold of his dick, getting what he wanted and already wet enough. “Oh, you _are_ a good boy.” 

“Brandon!” It was desperate and just what he needed to let him catch up to Harry. 

“Tell me now, what else do you want?” 

“You are horrible.” 

“You can always hang up.” Brandon really hoped he wouldn’t.

He heard an annoyed huff and then a deep breath. “I like being held down. I’ve never been with anyone like you, though, so far I was mostly letting people hold me down. You, I think you wouldn’t make it a choice. I think you could pin me, leave bruises, stop me from coming.” 

A little bit annoyance slipped into that last one and Brandon laughed even as his hand sped up. “You can touch yourself again. Don’t rush, though. Sometimes the journey is the best part.”

“My own sexual Yoda,” he heard. 

“Ask me before you come,” he told Harry, not even hiding another bout of laughter. 

“Will you let me?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Shit.” 

They were almost silent for a while, feeding of each other’s moans and slick noises, until, much too soon, Harry said his name again. “Please, I want to come, please.” 

“You ask so nicely. How long could you hold on if I asked you to?” 

“Not long,” Harry gasped, “not without…” 

“Would you stop, if I asked you to?” 

“I would but please, please don’t, I need…” 

It was enough for Brandon, “You can come,” he said, and listened, silent, as Harry’s voice broke on a thank you and he came loudly. 

Harry barely took a few breaths before he was asking what Brandon needed. 

“Can you touch yourself again?” 

“It will hurt.” 

But that wasn’t what Brandon asked and he stayed quiet until he heard a little grunt and then a hiss, telltale sounds of someone being overstimulated. It didn’t take long, just knowing Harry was doing that for him, a minute at best and he came all over himself, calling Harry good, “the best, shit, the best.” 

Harry laughed, a hiccup still clear in his voice, and Brandon wondered if there were tears on his face, then he wondered if Harry would hang up on him if he asked. 

“That was brilliant,” Harry finally said, slowest he’s spoken all night.

“It really was. Do you think…” 

“Definitely. Again. I mean… that’s what you were gonna ask, right?” 

Brandon laughed, but it felt like he was swimming, he was so ready for sleep. “Yeah, I was. I need a nap now.” 

“Definitely. I’ll, um, text you.” 

“Yeah, do that. Good night.” 

“Good night,” Harry hung up with a giggle. 

**Author's Note:**

> Will likely write more. 
> 
> Also, this is fiction. 
> 
> Also also - you don't have the right to post this whole story anywhere else.


End file.
